Fugue
Fugue (fyoog): a disturbed state of consciousness in which the one affected seems to perform acts in full awareness but upon recovery cannot recollect the deeds.*
Ben Cartwright sat bolt upright in bed. Even before his conscious mind identified the source of the scream, he had launched himself out of bed, barreling down the hall to his youngest son’s room as Adam and Hoss came running from the other direction.
Joe was sitting up in his bed, clutching the blankets. His eyes were open, and tears ran down his face. He was screaming in a way none of them had ever heard from him. Most of what he shrieked was incoherent, but those few words that they understood were chilling.
“Joe! Joseph! Son, it’s all right, Pa’s here.” Ben sat on the edge of the bed and grasped his son’s shoulders to ground him. Touch had always been the surest way to communicate with his youngest son. When words failed, the touch of the father’s hand had always been able to reach him, to bring strength and comfort.
But for the first time, his touch had the opposite effect. No sooner had Ben laid hands on his son than the young man’s terror exploded into full-blown hysteria. Wildly, he tried to shove his father away, a move so unexpected that Ben nearly fell to the floor. Joe scrambled out of the bed on the other side and backed away from the three astonished men who stood between him and the door.
“It’s all right, Joe,” said Ben in his most soothing voice. Slowly, he moved toward his son as if toward a wild stallion. With a gesture, he cautioned Adam and Hoss to stay back. “It’s all right. It’s just a dream. You’re safe. Nobody’s going to hurt you, I promise.” He repeated the same words over and over, in the same gentle voice, as he gradually moved toward his son. Joe was still choking and sobbing, but his screams lessened, as if he were tiring. His eyes darted back and forth from Ben to Adam and Hoss; the closer Ben came, the more quickly his eyes moved.
“It was only a dream, son,” Ben said. He reached out to Joe, gently laying a hand on the young man’s arm.
In a flash, Joe’s fist connected with his father’s right eye. As Ben staggered backward, Joe made a lunge for the door, but Hoss caught him.
“What the devil…!” The big man held Joe’s arms firmly as the boy struggled against him like a pinned wildcat. Screaming as if he were being skinned alive, he fought against his brother, more violently than any of them had ever seen. When kicking and twisting failed to free him, he tried to bite Hoss. “Joe! Stop it! Stop it!” Hoss held Joe’s arms as tightly as he could, but the young man continued to fight. Over his head, Hoss caught Adam’s eye and nodded. Grimly, Adam hauled off and belted Joe in the jaw, knocking him out.
The silence was so profound that for a moment, it was as if they’d all stopped breathing. Hoss gathered up his brother and laid him gently on the bed, drawing the covers over him.
“What in tarnation was that all about?” he asked, as if his father or older brother would know.
Adam shrugged. “You all right, Pa?”
“I’m fine,” said Ben. A slight exaggeration: his youngest son had a more powerful punch than one would expect from such a wiry young man, and it had been a while since anyone had punched Ben Cartwright for any reason. Still, he’d be fine. The bigger, more troubling question was the one Hoss had asked.
Ben sat down on the edge of the bed. Cautiously, he reached out to stroke his son’s brow. This time, Joe didn’t move. He ran his fingers along the place on the young man’s jaw that was already starting to turn purple. “Would one of you bring up some ice?” he asked. “He’s going to be hurting when he wakes up.”
“We had to do it, Pa,” said Hoss.
“I know,” said Ben. He studied the handsome young face, still blotchy and streaked with tears. Even unconscious, Joseph looked terrified. Ben watched him for a moment, and then rose. He poured water from the pitcher into the washbowl. He carried the washbowl and the towel back over to the bed, where he dipped the towel into the water. And gently, he began to wash away his son’s tears.
***********
The first thing Joe was aware of when he awoke was pain. His jaw hurt like a sonofagun. He ran his hand along it and quickly discovered the swollen spot. Dread dropped over him like a noose. He didn’t remember getting into a fight last night, but apparently, that was just what he’d done. There would be no hiding, either. Pa was going to have his hide for this. Worse, he was going to ask questions Joe couldn’t answer.
Like who’d he fought with, and why.
Joe pulled his nightshirt over his head. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he frowned. Both his upper arms were covered with bruises, as if someone had been holding him hard. They looked pretty fresh, too. Somebody must have been holding him at some point during the fight.
Strange. Usually, when that happened, they beat on his midsection. His torso was completely unscathed, though. He ran his hand over his stomach and chest. No pain, no bruising. Maybe they’d been interrupted.
He pulled on his drawers and pants. At least he wouldn’t have to explain the bruises on his arms. The jaw would be bad enough. He thought of lingering up here until Pa would have finished breakfast, but he figured he’d be in even worse trouble if he was late. Better just to get it over with.
He buttoned his shirt slowly, delaying the inevitable. At first, he hadn’t thought much of the memory lapses. He was tired, he told himself. Distracted. Thinking about more important things. After all, who really paid attention to the ride from town back to the ranch? So, it shouldn’t have been a big deal that, last week, he suddenly found himself in the barn, unsaddling Cochise, with his last memory from seemingly a moment earlier being that of standing in front of the Bucket of Blood. That one was the longest lapse. Other lapses had been shorter, sometimes only a few minutes. He’d look down at his plate to find that he’d eaten nearly all his supper and didn’t remember a bite of it. Or, he’d be ready to go and get the axle grease out of the barn, only to find that it was already sitting beside the wheel he had to put on the wagon, and he didn’t know if he’d put it there or someone else had come and gone.
So far, nobody else had noticed. Adam had given him a funny look when he’d said something about fixing the fence at the north edge of Buckhorn Meadow, which he’d apparently already done, but that was about it. Whatever he was missing, he was covering up for it all right.
Joe pulled on his boots. He stood and regarded his face in the glass again. Try as he might, he couldn’t come up with a single shred of a memory about what had happened.
Pa was going to have his hide for this one.
Everybody was at the table when Joe reached the bottom of the stairs, but nobody was talking. He took a deep breath and approached the table.
“Morning, everybody,” he said with false cheer. Adam and Hoss looked up and barely grunted. Pa looked up from his plate, and Joe’s jaw dropped.
“Pa! What happened to you?” Pa had a beauty of a shiner.
“What do you mean, what happened to him?” asked Adam. “You did it.”
Joe stopped halfway into his seat. “What are you talking about?” he blurted.
“You’re the one who hit him,” said Adam testily. He was never at his most pleasant first thing in the morning, and the night’s events, coupled with his sore knuckles, had done nothing to improve his disposition. “The question,” he added, “is why. What did you think Pa was going to do to you?”
“Adam, that’s enough,” said Ben.
“What are you—no! I never…I would never…I couldn’t…” The thought was so horrifying that Joe couldn’t make the words come out.
“It’s all right, son,” said Ben, his tone soothing even as he glared at his eldest son. “It was an accident, I know. Don’t worry about it.”
“But—but I…I could never hit you!” Joe couldn’t stop staring at his father’s blackened eye.
“I said, don’t worry about it,” said Ben, a touch of iron in his voice this time.
“Pa, you can’t pretend it didn’t happen,” said Adam.
“I am not ‘pretending’ anything,” said Ben. “Your brother struck me by accident, and that is all there is to it.”
“But I couldn’t have hit you!” Everything in Joe rebelled against the idea. There must have been some mistake. Maybe, in the course of whatever brawl had bruised his jaw, somebody else had hit Pa. He appealed to his big brother. “Hoss...”
“I’m sorry, Little Brother, but Adam’s talking’ the truth,” said Hoss regretfully. “Much as I hate to say it, you did hit Pa.”
“No! It must have been somebody else!”
Adam laid down his fork. “Joe, there was nobody in the room but us,” he said. “We all saw you do it, so you might as well stop denying it.”
“Adam, that’s enough!” snapped Ben.
“There must be some mistake,” said Joe desperately. “I could never hit Pa, I just couldn’t.”
“Joe, there was no mistake! Pa was standing right in front of you, and you hit him,” said Adam. “And then you tried to take on Hoss, and I had to belt you—which, doubtless, you remember,” he added, gesturing with his bruised hand toward Joe’s jaw.
“That enough!” thundered Ben.
Silence dropped over the table. Joe stared at his empty plate. No. It wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t. He couldn’t have done something like that. Adam had to be wrong. He couldn’t have punched Pa. He just couldn’t have—
Unable to bear his own thoughts, he flung himself away from the table. He could hear Pa calling as he ran out the door, but he didn’t stop until he was in the barn, in Cochise’s stall, where he leaned against the pinto and took deep, shaky breaths. After a minute, he had regained enough control to saddle his mount, and they galloped out the yard with no destination, just a need to get away from the house.
Inside, Ben glared at Adam. “Are you happy now?” he demanded.
“Pa, whatever he was thinking, he’s got to own up—” Adam began.
“That is not your job!” Ben snapped. “I am his father and I am the person he hit. If I don’t have any more to say about it, then neither do you!”
“Pa, it’s not that easy—” Adam began, but Hoss interrupted.
“Was either one of you listenin’ to what he said?” the big man asked, clearly troubled.
“Of course,” said Adam impatiently. “He just kept denying that he’d hit Pa.”
Hoss shook his head. “No, Older Brother, he never said he didn’t do it,” he said. “Joe said he couldn’t have done it.”
“I don’t understand,” said Ben slowly.
“I’ve listened to Joe deny a lot of things over the years,” said Hoss. “And I’ve listened to him sweet-talk a lot of people—including me—with all his fancy half-talking. One thing about Joe—he picks his words real careful.” The others looked at him expectantly. “Joe never said he didn’t actually hit Pa; he said it warn’t possible that he did it—just like he might if he heard about it, but he warn’t there to know for sure.” He looked from his father to Adam, waiting for comprehension. When neither spoke, he offered his reluctant conclusion: “Pa, I don’t think that boy has any idea what happened last night.”
“But—he was awake,” said Adam. “His eyes were open. He saw Pa there, and he hit him square in the eye.”
“Mebbe,” said Hoss. “Or mebbe he saw somebody, and he didn’t know who it was.”
“It wasn’t that dark in there,” said Ben. “There was a full moon right outside that window. Besides, I was talking to him. It’s not as if he could have mistaken me for some stranger.”
“Pa, I don’t know what happened, but I’d stake my life on it—Joe don’t know this morning what he did last night,” said Hoss. “And I bet he didn’t know what he was doin’ when he did it, either. He looked like he was awake, but he didn’t act like it.”
“You think he was still having a nightmare?” asked Ben.
Hoss nodded. “Mebbe.”
The three men were silent, considering the implications. “It doesn’t make sense,” Adam said finally. “I mean, even if we assume that this was some sort of waking nightmare—these things don’t just come out of the blue. Something must have happened to upset him pretty badly. Has he mentioned anything to either of you?” His father and brother shook their heads.
“He seemed fine before he went up to bed,” said Hoss.
“He hasn’t said a word about anything bothering him,” agreed Ben.
“Then I don’t understand,” said Adam. “The kid’s never had nightmares like this that I can recall. Only time I can remember that was even close was way back after his mother died.” He fell silent, remembering the little boy of nearly twenty years earlier.
Ben remembered, too. Little Joe had seemed all right in the first few weeks after Marie’s death—crying, of course, and sad and lonely, but generally all right. Then, about three months later, when the rest of them were just beginning to settle into their changed lives, the little boy’s nightmares began. Night after night, his screams split the darkness. For a time, Ben had brought the boy into his own bed in the hopes that Little Joe would be comforted by the nearness of his remaining parent. Eventually, the nightmares lessened, and finally stopped, and Little Joe returned to his own room. While Joe had certainly had nightmares in the intervening years, never had they been as intense and violent as those early ones.
Until last night.
“Of course,” he murmured, shaking his head. When his sons looked at him quizzically, Ben said, “When Marie died—the nightmares didn’t come until months later.”
Adam nodded, understanding. “And it’s been about three months since—the attack,” he concluded, using the euphemism the family had employed since they first received word of what had happened.
It was a story too familiar to be noteworthy to any but those directly involved: a stagecoach trying to make up lost time by taking a shortcut it shouldn’t have an Indian attack, unspeakable acts of torture. From what they could piece together afterward, Joe’s survival was sheer luck, or grace, depending on who was doing the telling. The others, mutilated and scalped, lay mercifully dead nearby, but the braves had been so amused by the tenacity of the young pup that they kept him alive, taunting him and laughing as he ran at them, beating him and placing bets on how many times he would rise again. When at last they tired of their sport, they seized his curls and had the tomahawk at the back of his neck, ready to take his scalp, when a brigade in search of an entire different troop appeared over the rise. The young man was forgotten in a flurry of arrows and bullets, and somehow, he was protected in the shadow of the stagecoach until the Indians were gone and the soldiers were taking stock of the carnage.
By the time the Cartwrights rode into the fort three days later, Joe was up and around. His ribs had been bound, his cuts and bruises tended, and the wound at the base of his skull had been stitched by the army doctor. He greeted them as casually as if they were simply meeting his stage as planned.
The haunted look in his eyes was not so easily treated, but he hid it almost well enough.
Adam took an officer aside and demanded to know what had happened. The officer, an older brother himself, was sympathetic, and he quietly arranged for Adam and Hoss to sit down with one of the soldiers who had been at the scene, while Ben walked with Joe slowly around the grounds. At first, the soldier was reluctant to tell the story, but when Hoss stood, towering over him, he told what he’d seen. When he finished, the Cartwright brothers were silent.
“At least your brother survived,” he pointed out hopefully. He didn’t tell them that, even just coming on the scene after most of the damage was done, he’d had nightmares for nearly a week. He couldn’t imagine how it would be for the young man who had watched it all happen. It occurred to him that the survivor might not think survival such a good thing.
Joe bounced back much faster than any of them would have expected, though. There were no unusual temper flare-ups, no depression or despondency. As soon as his ribs were healed, Joe was back at work, throwing himself into the running of the ranch as if nothing had ever happened. He broke every bronc he could get his hands on. He actually volunteered to help with the branding. The son who had always been the last one up was often out of the house before the others were even downstairs.
He never mentioned what had happened. Not once. His family, respecting his wishes, likewise remained silent.
Eventually, the only lingering effects were the look in his eyes and his refusal to get his hair cut. Assuming a connection between the latter and the healing wound, Ben did not push the issue, and Joe’s hair now curled over his collar, hiding the scar.
And no one commented on how the once-sparkling green eyes went dull whenever Joe thought himself unobserved.
Now, with three of them bearing bruises from the night before, Ben was convinced that Joe’s recovery had not been as seamless as they’d thought. Clearly, there was something else that was just now manifesting itself. Considering what the boy had seen and endured, he realized that this was not just possible—it was likely.
“D’you want me to go after him?” asked Hoss. He’d been planning to head into town to see his girl, Anna, but he knew she’d wait. She was a busy lawyer, and she’d have plenty to keep her occupied until he arrived.
Ben considered the question. “Let him be,” he said finally. “He’ll come back when he’s ready. Since he didn’t eat any breakfast, I imagine we’ll see him by supper at the latest.”
Ben’s prediction proved to be accurate. Dusk was just falling, and the moon was rising, when Joe rode back into the yard. He tended to Cochise carefully, postponing the moment when he would have to go back inside and see his father. He accepted Adam’s statement that he had hit Pa—after all, Adam would have no reason to lie about such a thing. But the idea that he was capable of striking his father shook him to the core. He’d have sworn that such a thing could never, ever happen, that he’d sooner commit murder than hit Pa. The idea flitted across his mind: what else might he do that he’d once have thought impossible?
At last, he screwed up his courage and crossed the yard. The lights of the house were warm and inviting. For a moment, he felt a chill, as if he were seeing his home for the last time, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.
He let himself in quietly, as if it were possible to slip unnoticed into the small group that would sit around the table. He hadn’t seen either Adam’s or Hoss’ horse in the barn, and so he knew he had a moment’s respite there. He made himself walk around the corner to where his father sat at his desk.
“Hey, Pa,” he said casually.
Ben looked up and smiled with genuine pleasure. Joe saw again the black eye, and he had to close his eyes. When he opened them, Pa had laid down his pen and was looking at him somberly. “Joseph,” he said. “I need to ask you something.” He gestured to the chair beside the desk, and Joe sat. Ben drew his own chair closer, until they were practically knee to knee. “Son, about last night—”
“Pa, I’m so sorry,” Joe interrupted. “I just can’t believe I did that. I’m so sorry.”
“Sssssh,” said Ben. “There’s no need for apologies. It was an accident. I know that. But Joe, I need to ask you—what do you remember about last night?” He saw a dart of pure terror flash in his son’s eyes.
“Well, umm—I remember—well, Hoss and I played checkers, and I beat him five games straight, and he got all upset and went up to bed,” said Joe. “And then you and I went up, and Adam stayed down here. And we said good night, and I went into my room and got undressed and got into bed.”
“And what’s the next thing you remember after that?” Ben asked, gently probing.
Joe was silent. His gaze turned inward, as if the answer were to be found somewhere deep inside himself. Ben waited, his frown deepening as the silence lengthened. His son wasn’t stalling; of that, Ben was certain. Even before he finally spoke, his father knew the answer.
At last, Joe whispered, “I remember waking up this morning and my jaw was sore.”
Carefully, steadily, Ben asked, “Do you remember any of us being in your room last night?” Wordlessly, Joe shook his head. “Do you remember anything you dreamed about?” Again the silent headshake. “Do you remember anything at all after you got into bed?”
“Nothing,” confessed Joe. “Not until I woke up this morning.” He forced himself to look up, and Pa’s deep brown eyes were so warm and understanding and safe that he nearly told him about all the other things that he couldn’t remember. But just then, Adam and Hoss came bursting in the door, and the moment was over.
************
This time, when he came back to himself, he was standing in the barn, gasping for breath. Cochise’s flanks were heaving as well, as though they’d run a long way together. From town, probably. That was the last thing he remembered, walking down C Street.
It was the fourth time since the nightmare that he’d had a memory lapse of significant length. For the first week after that night, he’d been careful to stay near the house, around people. To his family’s surprise, he’d offered to do mundane tasks, such as cleaning out the barn, in the hope that, even when his mind went missing, his hands would be able perform well enough to cover up what was happening. This strategy seemed to work, because no one had commented on anything different, and his brothers would definitely have spoken up. More days passed, and eventually, he felt confident that he had the problem under control. He didn’t know how to stop the lapses, but at least he could hide them.
But then, Pa had come into the barn and asked him to do the banking and pick up the mail. Maybe it was the bruises still visible around his father’s eye, or maybe Joe was just a little too cocky. Whatever the reason, he’d agreed, and he’d gone into Virginia City, alone.
Now, as he stood in the barn in the darkness of the autumn evening, he knew in his gut that something bad had happened. He could feel the cold hand of fear on the back of his neck, holding him motionless.
And then he lifted his hand, and he saw the blood.
Blood was everywhere—his hands, his jacket, Cochise’s neck where he’d touched the horse. His shirt, where it had soaked through his jacket. Tentatively, he reached up with the back of his hand to touch his cheek, and he found dried blood on his face.
But he felt no pain, other than a gash in his right arm, and it was not possible that so much blood had come from one simple slice.
He began to tremble, and trembling increased to shaking as understanding dawned.
The blood wasn’t his.
In due course, he pulled himself together enough to tend to his horse. He fetched a bucket of water from the trough outside and carried it into the barn so that he could wash the blood off his hands and face without being seen. He dropped his jacket in a corner of the stall where it would be unnoticed until he could figure out what to do with it. His arm was still bleeding a little bit, and it hurt like the devil, but he ignored it while he focused on the things he could think about. He unsaddled the pinto and groomed him, washing the red blood off the white neck. Slowly, carefully, he curried and brushed and cleaned hooves. Then, he sat down on a bale of hay and began to oil his saddle. Anything to postpone the moment when he would have to go inside.
But luck was not with him, and no sooner had he begun to work the leather than Hoss appeared in the barn doorway. “It’s about time you got back,” he said cheerfully. “We been waitin’ supper. C’mon, let’s go.”
“In a minute,” said Joe. His voice sounded strained even to his own ears.
Hoss hadn’t spent most of his life watching out for his little brother without learning a few things, and one was the difference between orneriness and real trouble. Before Joe quite realized it, Hoss was standing over him. The cheer had vanished, and his blue eyes were somber. “What’s the matter?” Joe shook his head, but Hoss saw the blood on his brother’s shirtsleeve. “What happened to your arm?”
Joe shook his head again. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”
“Looks like an awful lot of blood for ‘nothing’,” said Hoss. “Lemme see.” As if Joe was still a child, Hoss seized his brother’s wrist and held it firmly as he pulled back the sleeve. His eyes widened at the sight of the wound. It was more than three inches long, and it was deep and crusted in dried blood. Already, the surrounding area was swollen and warm. Joe forced himself to remain still as Hoss gently examined his arm. Finally, Hoss looked up. His face was grim. “How’d this happen?”
“I don’t know,” said Joe. It sounded like a lie, and he wished it was. How could a person not know how his arm got slashed?
“Joe, this looks like it was done with a knife,” said Hoss. “We gotta get this cleaned up, mebbe stitched. How’d it happen? Were you in a fight?”
“Are you deaf? I said I don’t know!” Joe yanked his arm out of Hoss’ grasp and flung himself into Cochise’s stall, steadying himself against the horse, who nickered softly.
“Joe, what the devil happened?” Hoss grabbed his shoulder and turned him roughly.
Helplessly, Joe shook his head. “I don’t know,” he whispered.
Hoss searched his brother’s eyes for a sign of dissembling. Instead, he saw fear bordering on panic. “Well, you come on inside, and we’ll get that arm cleaned up, anyway,” he said after a long silence. “Where’s your jacket?” No answer. “Joe, where’s your jacket? It’s cold.”
“Right there.” The words were barely more than breath.
Hoss turned. The jacket lay crumpled in a corner of the stall. Even in the fading light of the barn, he could see the darkness of the stains on the green fabric. Dread filled his mouth with a metallic taste as he picked up the garment and saw just how much blood covered it. Then, he turned back to his brother.
“Joe…” His voice died out. The brothers stood silently, one holding the other’s blood-soaked jacket. Finally, Hoss reached out and laid his arm around Joe’s shoulders, shepherding him out of the stall. “Let’s get that arm fixed up first,” he said hoarsely.
With an obedience nearly unheard-of in Joe Cartwright, the younger man bowed his head and allowed himself to be guided out of the barn and into the house. He had no choices any more.
***********
“Well, that should take care of that,” said Doc Martin, smoothing the bandage in place. “You take it easy with that arm for a few days. Don’t be pulling my stitches out before they’re ready to come out,” he added, dropping the sling over Joe’s head and tucking the arm into it. Then, the jollity in his voice deepened into something more serious. “And you have no idea how this happened?”
“None,” said Joe. Ben sat beside him on the settee, arm along the back behind his son, offering silent support as the doctor perched on the table in front of his patient. Adam and Hoss stood behind the doctor, shifting uneasily. In the background, Hop Sing hovered.
“What’s the last thing you remember before you were in the barn here?” asked the doctor.
Joe thought. “I did the banking, and then I picked up the mail. I was walking down C Street, and—there was something, some noise—I don’t remember what. And the next thing I knew, I was here.”
The doctor looked serious. “How long has this been going on?”
“A few weeks,” admitted Joe. When the doctor said nothing, he allowed, “Maybe a month, or a month and a half.” No one spoke, and Joe said, “Less than two months, I’m sure.”
“And you say you haven’t hit your head, gotten knocked out, anything like that?”
“Well—other than when Adam hit me a couple weeks ago, no,” said Joe reluctantly.
The doctor frowned. “How many times have you had these memory lapses?” Joe shrugged. “How often do they happen? Once a week? More?”
“At first, not very much at all,” said Joe. “And they were short, maybe a few minutes. Then, they started to get longer—I’d be out riding, or I’d be in town, and suddenly I was here. Sometimes, they’re still short, but sometimes they’re longer.”
“Did the lapses become more frequent?” Joe nodded. “How often are they coming now?”
Joe looked apologetically at his father, and Ben nodded encouragingly. Joe took a deep breath and turned to the doctor. “Nearly every day,” he admitted. Abruptly, Ben sat up straighter, and Joe didn’t have to look to know he was frowning. “I’m sorry, Pa,” Joe said, meaning it. “I should have said something.”
“Yes, you should have,” said Ben sternly. He rested his hand on his son’s arm. “But don’t worry about that now,” he said, softening. “The important thing is that you’ve told us.” He turned to the doctor. “Is there anything we can do?”
The doctor shook his head. “I’ve heard of this happening, but there’s no medicine that I can give him,” he said. “Hopefully, the fugues will pass on their own.”
“’Fugues’?” asked Hoss, frowning at the unfamiliar word.
The doctor nodded. “’Fugue’ is the medical term. It refers to a state of consciousness where the person seems to be present and going along just fine, but later, the person has no recollection of what happened.”
“So—Joe might not remember tomorrow that we were all here now?” Hoss’ brotherly caretaker instincts were prickling.
“Possibly,” said the doctor. “Given the fact that he’s talking now, and he’s making sense, I’d guess that that’s unlikely, but I suppose it could happen. It can be difficult to know whether someone is fully present or in a fugue state. As a practical matter, though, I’d say that if he seems to be withdrawing and not noticing what’s going on around him, this could be a sign.”
“What do we do then?” asked Ben. He put a protective arm around his son’s shoulders, as if he could keep Joe’s mind present by the force of his own will.
“Keep a close eye on him,” said the doctor. “As far as I know, there’s no way to prevent it or interrupt it, if that’s what you’re asking. All you can really do is to make sure he doesn’t get himself into any trouble while he’s—well, gone.”
“You said these fugues could pass on their own,” said Adam. “How long is that going to take?”
Again, the doctor shook his head. “According to the literature, this type of thing can be the result of an experience that’s just too awful for the mind to handle. War survivors sometimes have these types of episodes—their minds try to cope with what they’ve lived through by forgetting. Obviously, the only event Joe’s had recently that rises to that level was that attack a few months ago. So, if we assume that these memory lapses are related to that—it’s taken a while for them to begin, and I expect it’ll take a while for them to fade out—if that’s what’s going to happen.”
“What do you mean, ‘if’?” asked Hoss. “What else could happen?”
The doctor looked from one Cartwright to another. “There’s been very little study done into this type of thing,” he said carefully. “There’s no way to know how a person’s mind is going to react. It doesn’t do any of us any good for me to sit here and try to guess about the future.” The only guesses that he could make were that either the fugues would stop, or the boy would finally disappear into whatever shadowy place his mind inhabited during these lapses. He would not tell these good people these choices, not now. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Joe was the only one who hadn’t been asking questions. There was, he suspected, a reason for the young man’s silence.
Doc decided to shift the conversation. “For tonight, I’m going to tell you this,” he said. “As far as I can tell, Joe, you lost a lot of blood with that gash. I want you to rest up for the next day or so, and try not to do too much with that arm for a few days. As far as the rest goes…” He looked around the group again, “…I suggest that you not go off on your own for a while. Stay with somebody who can keep an eye on things and remind you what’s going on.” He saw Hop Sing standing by the table, holding a tray, and smiled.
“Doctor like coffee?” The little man advanced.
“Thank you, Hop Sing, I’d love some,” Doc said. As Hop Sing poured, the doctor continued, “Is it just the memory lapses, or is anything else going on?”
Joe looked to his father. Understanding, Ben said, “There was one night a couple weeks ago when Joe had a pretty bad nightmare. We couldn’t seem to get him to wake up, and he was fighting us.”
“I hit Pa,” said Joe tonelessly.
If the doctor was shocked, he gave no sign. Instead, he asked, “Do you remember any of this?”
Joe shook his head. “I woke up in the morning with bruises from where they had to hold me and Adam had to punch me, but I didn’t remember anything. I still don’t. They told me all about it, but I don’t remember.”
“Was that the only episode like that?” asked Doc.
A firm knock at the door drowned out Ben’s affirmative. Hastily, Hop Sing set down the coffee tray and hurried to the door.
Roy Coffee looked solemn. He looked around the room, his gaze coming to rest on Joe. “Evening, Ben, Doc, boys, Hop Sing,” he said.
“Evening, Roy,” said Ben, standing. “What can we do for you? There’s some coffee if you’d like.”
“Sorry, Ben, but this ain’t a social call,” Roy said. “I got a warrant for Little Joe’s arrest.”
The young man went pale. The doctor looked sharply at him. Instinctively, Adam and Hoss moved closer to their brother. The crackling of the fire, so soft and comforting a moment earlier, was suddenly loud and harsh.
“For what? Roy, come in, sit down.” Ben tried desperately to make this a normal evening.
“Ben, I can’t stay,” Roy said. “I got a warrant to arrest Little Joe for the murder of Frank Grayson.”
“Murder? Of who?”
“Frank Grayson,” said Roy. “Drifter who’d been in town for a few days. Found in an alley with a hunting knife stuck in his ribs. I got a witness who says she saw Little Joe running down the street with blood all over his jacket right near that alley.” He peered at Joe, who had still not moved. “You in town today, Joe?” No one spoke. No one moved. No one met his eyes. Finally, the sheriff singled out the one who was always in charge: “Ben, what’s going on?”
“Roy…” Ben drew a deep breath. “Please, sit down. I need to talk to you.”
The sheriff listened as Ben explained. When Ben finished, Roy was silent for a while. He set down his coffee cup and regarded Ben and Joe. At last, he said, “Joe, I’m sorry, but if you can’t give me a reason to believe you didn’t do it, I gotta take you in.”
“I know,” said Joe. Of all of them, he seemed least disturbed at the thought.
“Roy, please, not tonight,” said Ben. “I’ll bring him in first thing in the morning—but not tonight.”
“Pa, it’s all right,” said Joe. He started to rise, but Ben restrained him with a hand on his unbandaged arm.
“Roy, just let him stay here tonight,” Ben said. “You have my word that he won’t go anywhere and he’ll be in your office first thing in the morning.”
“Ben, I’d like to oblige you, I surely would, but you know I can’t do that,” said Roy. “Too many people know Little Joe was near that alley with all that blood on him. If’n I don’t bring him in, everybody’s gonna think the Cartwrights is I’ special treatment, and that won’t go well for Joe at the trial. Now, if you can give me a medical reason why he shouldn’t go, well, that’d be different.”
All heads turned to the doctor. “He lost a lot of blood with that wound,” said Doc. “He needs to rest. He shouldn’t be riding tonight.”
“Wa’al, that’s more like it,” said Roy. He stood. “Ben, you bring him in first thing in the morning, and…”
“I’m going with you now,” said Joe, standing, albeit unsteadily.
“Joseph, what are you talking about? Roy said…” his father began.
“I know what Roy said,” interrupted Joe. “I’m going back with him tonight.”
“Little Joe, you don’t have to come tonight,” said Roy. “Doc says you shouldn’t be riding, and that’s good enough for me.”
“I’m fine to ride,” said Joe. “Adam, can I borrow your coat?”
“Of course,” said Adam. “But Joe, you really should stay here for tonight—”
“Don’t you understand?” Joe burst out, his voice hoarse, desperate with unshed tears. “Don’t any of you understand?”
“Understand what, son?” asked Ben gently.
“That’s where I should be,” Joe whispered.
Hoss stepped forward. “Joe, you didn’t do this, I know you didn’t,” he said.
“You know? How can you know? How can you possibly know that when I don’t even know that?” The young man stood tensely, his breathing hard and rough as he fought back tears. “What are you going to do if I stay here? Keep watch outside my room all night? Tie me to the bedposts? How can you possibly guarantee that I’ll be here in the morning when I can’t guarantee that?” he demanded, his voice breaking.
Ben turned to the doctor and the sheriff. “Would you give us a minute, please?” Both men nodded and stepped outside. The door closed after them, and all was silent.
Wordlessly, Ben embraced his youngest son, willing his own strength to be enough for both of them. For a moment, Joe stood still. Then, his resolve crumbled, and he slid his arm from the sling to grab onto his father with both hands, clinging as if he were drowning. Ben held him tightly and stroked his hair as Joe broke down and wept, his worst fears suddenly a horrible reality. Adam and Hoss rested their hands on Joe’s back, and the four men stood together, connected, needing no words.
“Joseph, I think you should stay here tonight,” said Ben at last, when Joe was quiet.
Joe released his grasp, wiping his eyes as he met his father’s. Without comment, Ben handed Joe his handkerchief, and his son managed a small smile of thanks.
“I’m going with him, Pa,” Joe said, resolute. “At least that way, I won’t have to wonder later where I went or what I did.”
Adam laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Just so you know that we’re not wondering,” he said. “We know you didn’t kill this man, even if you don’t.”
“How can you know?” The question was quieter than before, but no less intense.
“Because we know you,” said Hoss. Ben and Adam nodded their assent.
Standing before his family, eyes red and skin blotchy, the boy looked impossibly young. Ben knew that, if he insisted, Joe would stay at home tonight. He also knew, though, that as much as he wanted to protect his youngest son, the decision wasn’t his. Reluctantly, he said, “Son, if you’d rather go with Roy—”
“I would,” said Joe.
“All right, then,” said his father. “Just let me get my things.”
“Your things... Pa, you don’t have to go with me,” said Joe. “I can handle this myself.”
“I know you can,” said Ben. He laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. “But I’m not going just for you.” He searched the young man’s eyes, and the flicker of a smile told him that Joe understood.
“Okay, then,” Joe said quietly. “Let’s go.”
***********
The stars dotted the crisp night sky as the horse pulling the doctor’s rig trotted along the well-trod road to Virginia City. Roy had ridden on ahead, while Adam and Hoss rode behind the buggy. At Doc’s quiet suggestion, Ben rode in the back seat of the buggy with Joe, who had fallen asleep almost as soon as they left the house.
“Ben, I wasn’t just trying to keep Joe out of jail before when I said he should be resting tonight,” Paul Martin had said in a low voice as the others bustled about, saddling horses and gathering overnight items. “He’s wounded and he’s lost a fair bit of blood, in addition to the strain of everything else. He should be upstairs in bed with a brandy, not riding into town in the middle of the night.”
“I agree completely,” said Ben. “But it wasn’t up to me.” He smiled ruefully at the doctor, who shook his head in wonder.
“It seems like only yesterday that I was handing him to you, all wrapped up in a blanket,” said Doc. Little Joe had been one of the first babies he’d delivered, and he’d taken a certain proprietary interest in the young man ever since.
“Right now, I wish we were back there again,” Ben admitted as the sound of drawers opening and closing upstairs underscored the fact that everyone was leaving the house. Joe had tried to persuade his brothers to stay at home, but Adam and Hoss were adamant.
“If it was one of us, we couldn’t keep you here with chains,” Hoss pointed out.
Unable to argue the fact, Joe took the oblique approach. “This is just an excuse so you can go and see Anna,” he retorted, and he ducked as Hoss threw a boot at him.
Out in the yard came the next argument. “I meant what I said before,” said the doctor. “I don’t want you riding tonight. If you insist on going in—and I still think that’s a mistake—I want you in the buggy.”
Joe pulled Adam’s mustard-colored coat closer around his shoulders; even without the sling, the bandaged arm didn’t quite fit into the sleeve. “Doc, I’m perfectly capable—” he began.
“Joseph.” Ben’s stern tone left no room for dispute. “Listen to the doctor.” Recognizing Joe as an adult didn’t require him to cede all of his authority as a parent.
“But, Pa—”
“Joseph.” On his father’s lips, the one word carried a thousand meanings, and at that moment, Joe heard them all, from “Stop arguing and do as you’re told” to “I love you, son.” He saw the grief etched into his father’s face, and his heart ached with the knowledge that he was responsible for that pain.
“Yes, sir,” he said quietly. He tossed his satchel into the back seat of Doc’s buggy and prepared to climb into the front.
“You know, if you ride in the back seat, you’ll probably be able to get some sleep on the way into town,” said Doc casually. “Nothing personal against your jail, Roy, but it’s hardly the International House.”
“My jail’s a perfectly fine place to sleep!” huffed Roy. “And Little Joe knows that as well as anybody! He’s sure slept there enough times!”
“It ain’t been that many times!” protested Joe with mock indignation. Silently, Ben blessed his friends for their ability to bring a bit of lightness to his son in such a dark moment.
In the end, Joe climbed into the back seat of Doc’s buggy. He seemed surprised for a moment when his father followed, but his expression said as clearly as words that he knew Ben needed to ride with him, and so he did not lodge the expected protest. And shortly after they left the house, when Joe started to nod off, he did not object when Ben put his arm around him so that he could rest his head on his father’s shoulder.
“Is he asleep?” asked the doctor softly from the front seat.
“Has been for a while,” whispered Ben. He adjusted the blanket he’d spread over his son and rested his cheek on Joe’s curls for a moment.
The doctor nodded. He’d expected as much.
They rode in silence for a while before Ben forced himself to ask the question that had been haunting him for hours. “Paul, what’s going to happen to him?”
The doctor shook his head. “I wish I knew,” he said.
“Is it possible that—with whatever this memory thing is—is it possible that he could have done something that’s so completely out of character?” Ben tried to keep his voice quiet, lest Joe awaken to hear such a conversation.
“I can’t say for certain, but my guess is no,” said the doctor. “What could happen, though, is that he does something that’s in character, except that he has some wrong information, and so it doesn’t make sense—like hitting you, for example. You said, and I tend to agree, that he didn’t realize it was you that he hit.”
“So, you think that it’s possible that he killed this Grayson fellow, not because of who Grayson was, but because he thought the man was somebody else?”
“Maybe,” said the doctor. “Or maybe he thought Grayson was attacking him or something. The problem is that, without Joe being able to tell us anything, it’s all speculation.”
As Ben was about to answer, Joe shifted in his sleep, nestling against his father as he hadn’t done since he was a boy. Ben was thankful that it was too dark for anyone to see the tears that suddenly welled up as he drew his son closer. He refused to believe that this was the last time Joe would leave the Ponderosa. It simply couldn’t be. And so he turned his eyes and his thoughts heavenward, and he held his sleeping son close as the little group continued their relentless progression toward Virginia City.
**********
It was nearly midnight by the time they reached Virginia City, and well past that before they’d sorted everyone out. The doctor insisted on having a look at Joe’s arm before retiring for the night. Hoss and Adam took the horses to the livery stable and went over to the International House to check in. Roy escorted Joe into a cell, and Ben stood outside the bars as the door clanged shut.
“You just go back to sleep, and I’ll see you in the morning,” said Ben. His throat tightened as his son managed a small smile. Tousle-headed and bleary-eyed, Joe looked like a schoolboy as he stood, yawning, on the other side of the bars.
“Night, Pa,” Joe said. His arm was throbbing, and his neck was stiff. He couldn’t wait to lie down properly. Not that he expected to be able to sleep—there was a world of difference between sleeping out in the fresh air with his father holding him close, and lying in a jail cell. Still, he was here by choice, and at least now, he knew that he was safe. There was no way that he could get out, no way that he could do anything else.
No way that his mind could wander away and allow his hands to spill someone’s blood.
So, Joe yanked off his boots and dropped the sling on the floor as he lay down on the cot, pulling the rough wool blanket up over himself. Doc sure was right about this not being the International House, he thought wryly as he tried to find a comfortable position on the lumpy mattress. He doubled the thin pillow over and tucked it under his head as if it would then approximate his soft feather pillows at home. The faint, musty odor of the cell’s last unwashed resident hung in the darkness, and Joe tried to breathe shallowly.
He closed his eyes and did his best not to think any more. He could hear the low voices of his father and the sheriff on the other side of the closed door. He wondered how long Pa intended to stay. For just a second, before he hushed it, the little boy part of him admitted that he wanted Pa to stay right here all night. Dumb kid, he chastised himself.
On the other side of the closed door, Ben and Roy regarded each other. “I guess I should head over to the hotel,” said Ben, not moving.
The pain in his old friend’s eyes was more than Roy could stand. “Clem’s out of town,” he said simply. He picked up Ben’s satchel, which still sat on the floor by the door, and dropped it on the deputy’s cot in the little side room.
“Thank you, Roy,” Ben whispered. He knew that his son was an adult, but right then, he wanted nothing more than to go back in and sit by Joe’s bed, stroking his curls and reassuring him that nothing bad could happen now. Sheer foolishness, he knew, but just imagining it made him feel better. I’m here, son, he wanted to call out, but he didn’t. Joe would think him silly and overprotective.
Ben stretched out on the cot and closed his eyes, trying to convince himself that there was nothing to worry about. An hour later, with sleep still elusive, he rose and padded in his socks across the chilly floor to the closed door separating the office from the cells. Silently, he eased the door open. As he closed it behind him, the latch made the tiniest click.
“Who’s there?” came Joe’s voice in the darkness, alert and fully awake. “Roy? Is that you?”
“It’s just me, son,” Ben called softly.
“Pa?” Joe was at the bars in a heartbeat. “Pa, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you back at the hotel?”
“Thought I’d keep Roy company,” Ben said lightly. “Clem’s out of town.” Instinctively, Joe reached through the bars to his father, and Ben caught his son’s hand and pressed it against his face. They stood together in the darkness of the jail, in silence rich with unspoken words, until they began to shiver from the cold.
At last, Ben let go. “You go back to sleep now,” he whispered. “You’re going to need your strength tomorrow.”
Joe smiled tremulously. He had all the strength he needed right now. “Good night, Pa,” he whispered.
“Good night, son.”
Each went back to his bed. And this time, they slept.
**********
Ben awoke to the sound of voices. Guiltily, he jumped up and splashed water on his face. Boots, a clean shirt, and a quick glance in the glass to ensure that he could get by without shaving, and he was ready to go.
Hoss was hanging up Anna’s cloak when Ben entered the office. “Good morning, everyone,” Ben said. His older sons exchanged a look that was clearly meant to pass unnoticed, so Ben focused his attention on the lady. “Anna, how are you?” he asked.
He still hadn’t quite gotten over the fact that Hoss’ girl was a lawyer. When she’d arrived in Virginia City the year before, Adam and Joe had made vigorous attempts to court her, but the lady knew what she wanted. Although most people in town still thought big, ungainly Hoss, with his plainspoken ways, an odd choice for the beautiful Chicago lawyer, Ben had watched the couple carefully for months, and he was pleased with what he saw.
Hoss and Anna cherished and relied upon each other’s unique qualities and talents, and they had meshed their worlds to come up with something rare and beautiful. Ben chuckled to himself when Hoss came bounding into the house, equally excited when Anna had won a case or when she finally managed to figure out how to get a western saddle onto the mare he’d given her for her birthday. The petite blonde was his son’s most vigorous defender, and Ben and Hoss would sit back at dinner, vastly amused, as Anna lit into Adam or Joe about some chance comment they’d made about her beloved. Separately, Hoss and Anna were impressive; together, they were formidable.
Perhaps more importantly, each had the wisdom to understand that no one person would meet their every need. So, Hoss beamed with pride as Anna sparred verbally with Adam, not at all bothered by the fact that he could never have been her equal in such a debate. And Anna, a city girl who had always had servants, had had no compunction about admitting to Hoss, a man who enjoyed a good meal, that she couldn’t cook. Even now, and despite the best efforts of Hoss and Hop Sing to teach her, Anna was a dreadful cook. After a series of highly unsuccessful meals, Hoss had quietly procured for her a cook, one of Hop Sing’s many cousins.
“’Sides, think of how much time you’ll save by not bein’ in the kitchen,” Hoss had said, pulling her close.
“All that free time,” mused Anna. “Do you suppose we’ll be able to figure something to do with it?”
“I reckon we can come up with something,” Hoss grinned, kissing her lightly at first, and then more deeply as she pressed herself into his embrace.
Now, in the sheriff’s office, Anna was all business. “I’m fine, Mr. Cartwright,” she said. “The question is, how are you all?”
“We’re fine,” said Ben, aware at that moment of how much he sounded like Joe. “Thank you for doing this,” he added, taking her hands.
“I’m glad that I can be of assistance,” said Anna, kissing his cheek. She gathered up her portfolio and opened the door to the cells. “Good morning, Joe,” she said.
“Morning, Anna,” said Joe. “Morning, everybody,” he added as his father and brothers followed Anna to Joe’s cell.
Anna turned to Hoss. “Hoss, where are the keys?”
“I don’t know if Roy would want us opening up his cells,” said Hoss.
“This isn’t a social call,” said Anna. “I’m his lawyer. I’m sure Roy won’t have a problem with that.” Ben was careful not to look at Adam, who put his hand over his mouth to cover his grin. Hoss turned away from her before he rolled his eyes. When Anna moved into her lawyer role, it was best just to get out of her way. And if Roy had a problem with that—well, one thing they all knew was that they wouldn’t want to be in Roy’s boots just then.
Hoss opened the door, and Anna turned. “Thank you, darling. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse us, I need to talk to my client.”
“Excuse you? What are you talking about?” Hoss asked.
“I think she’s telling you to get out,” said Joe. “Thanks for coming, Anna,” he added, hugging her.
“Good morning, Joe,” she said. To see her smile at him, anybody would have thought it was the easiest case in the world. She turned back to the others. “Joe’s absolutely right,” she said. “I need to speak with him alone.”
“But why?” Hoss demanded.
“I’ll be right back,” she said to Joe. “Will you gentlemen come with me for a moment?”
“I think you’re in trouble, Big Brother,” called Joe as Anna shepherded the group into the main office.
She closed the door, and her smile dropped. “I understand that this is difficult for all of you,” she said in a low voice. “But I also understand that what you’re experiencing is a fraction of what Joe’s going through. Protecting him is my first priority, and that includes protecting him against well-meaning interference. You’ve asked me to represent him, and I assume from this request that that means that you trust me. I will keep you informed and involved as much as I can without compromising his right to confidentiality, but I have neither the time nor the inclination to justify every little decision I make. Either you trust me, or you don’t. If you don’t, kindly say so now so that Joe can have new counsel as soon as possible. There isn’t time for nonsense.”
The men were silent. Then, Hoss stepped forward. “Anna, he’s your client, and I know that’s important to you, but he’s our—he’s our Little Joe.”
Anna softened. “Do you think I don’t understand that? I’ve spent the past year watching you all together. Believe me. I know exactly what’s riding on this case.” Her blue eyes met Hoss’, and he knew what she meant.
For a moment, he wanted to tell her not to take the case. He wanted the lawyer to be a stranger, someone he didn’t know, didn’t love. Someone who, if the worst happened, he wouldn’t have to look at every day and every night till death did them part, always wondering if she’d made a mistake that had cost him his brother.
But he didn’t say it. There were things about Anna Simmons that Hoss had learned, and one of them was that there was no telling her what to do. He thought of asking instead, but in the next second, he knew that he wouldn’t do it. Little Joe needed the best lawyer there was, and Anna Simmons was the best. Whatever that might cost him and Anna personally—well, it was worth it if it meant that Joe could come home after it was all over.
“What do you need for us to do?” he asked. Anna stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. He was so transparent to her. She knew that his own internal battle wasn’t over, and it wouldn’t be until Joe walked back in the door of the ranch house, but she loved him for trying.
“Find Roy, and find out who this witness is who put Joe at the scene,” she said. “See if anybody else saw anything. Look around that alley and see if there’s anything there. See if Doc’s finished with the body and what he can tell us about the cause of death. By the time you do all that, Joe and I should be finished here.”
“We’ll see you in a little while, then,” said Hoss. He leaned down and kissed her. She watched the three men leave. Not until the door closed behind them did she allow herself a moment to sag under the weight of what she’d taken on. Then, she squared her shoulders and headed back into the cell to find out from Joe Cartwright what, if anything, he actually knew about Frank Grayson’s death.
**********
“Now, close your eyes and just let your mind drift,” Anna said. Joe started to roll his eyes, but quickly, he closed them. He appreciated all she was doing, but right now, she was like the worst possible combination of Pa, his brothers, the doctor, the sheriff and a truly annoying big sister. Everything he said was followed by half a dozen questions about every little thread of it. And when he said he remembered a sound just before his memory stopped, she leaned forward and placed her hands on the sling she’d insisted he put back on. “Picture it in your mind,” she said softly, almost as if her voice were the accompaniment to his thoughts. He didn’t snort, but he did exhale a little harder than usual. She didn’t seem to notice, though. She just kept talking in that soft voice. “Look around at the street,” she said. “Do you see anybody coming? Are you talking to any of them?”
Joe was ready to tell her that the whole thing was silly, but he found that the picture was becoming more vivid in his mind. The late afternoon sun was fading, and a stiff breeze was blowing the dust around. Mrs. Morrison and her boy were coming down the sidewalk toward him, and he tipped his hat and greeted them. He was just stepping down off the curb at the alley when he heard—when he heard—
“A voice,” he said, opening his eyes. “I heard a voice.”
“Whose voice?” Anna asked. “What was it saying?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said.
“Was it a man or a woman? Or a child?”
“I don’t know,” he repeated.
“Close your eyes and listen again,” she said, and this time he did so willingly. “Start down the street again. See Mrs. Morrison and her son. Now, step off the curb—”
He squeezed his eyes shut fiercely, trying to concentrate. After a few minutes, he sat back. “I don’t know,” he said, defeated. He felt as if she were asking him to tell the end of a book he’d been reading, but somebody had torn out the rest of the pages.
“It’s okay,” Anna said. “This is a start.”
“I don’t know what it does for us,” Joe said.
“Maybe nothing,” said Anna. “Or maybe Mrs. Morrison or her son heard something. Or somebody.”
Joe considered this. He listened for a moment. No sign of the others yet. He decided to take the chance. “Anna—”
“What is it?” She was making notes as she spoke. When he said nothing, she looked up. “What is it, Joe?”
“What if—what if I remember something that’s—well, that’s not good?”
“You mean, what if you remember something that looks as if you’re guilty?” Joe nodded. Matter-of-factly, she said, “Then you tell me. Not your father, not your brothers. I’m the person you tell.”
“But—why not Pa or Adam or Hoss?”
“Because if what you remember isn’t good, they’ll try to convince you that you’re not remembering right, because they believe you can’t possibly have killed this man,” she said. “But to defend you, I need to know the truth, whatever it is, however much of it you know. I can work with practically anything, as long as I know what it is. What I can’t work with is your memories getting mixed up with what you’re being told by other people so that I can’t tell what’s real and what somebody’s trying to convince you is real. A lot of this case is going to hinge on what you know. That’s why I needed to talk to you alone. I need to know what you do remember and what you don’t remember, not what you’re being told.”
“But they know things I don’t, like that night when I hit Pa.” It was still difficult for Joe to say that out loud.
“And I’ll be talking to each of them about what they know,” Anna said. “But first and foremost is sorting out what you know. Whatever it is, we’ll work with it.”
Joe considered this. He knew it wasn’t fair to say that it didn’t seem to matter to her if he was guilty or not, but she almost sounded that way. Relief, strange and unexpected, washed over him. As much as he appreciated his family telling him he couldn’t possibly have killed this man, there was something oddly freeing about the idea that Anna was on his side either way. He didn’t want to believe that he’d done such a thing, but somehow, it was a comfort to know that if he had, she wasn’t going anywhere.
“Thanks,” he said softly.
Anna smiled and squeezed his hand. For a moment, she knew just a little of how Hoss felt. There was just something about Little Joe Cartwright. One minute, he could drive you so crazy you wanted to throttle him, and the next minute, you’d do absolutely anything, just to see him smile. Hoss had told her so many stories of Joe as a child that she felt almost as if she were the big sister who had watched this young man grow up.
She remembered how tenderly Hoss had cared for Joe after that explosion in her office last year, when Joe had had such a bad concussion. If she hadn’t already been falling in love with Hoss before then anyway, watching him with Joe would probably have pushed her over that edge. She knew that Hoss would have been caring and attentive with anybody, but there was a special bond between those two. Even if she didn’t have fifty other reasons to spend herself defending Joe, she’d do it for Hoss.
She came out of her reverie to see Joe smiling at her. She could feel herself blushing. Joe’s smile broadened into a grin, and he winked. “Don’t worry,” he said. “My big brother’ll be back soon. And as soon as this mess is all over, I expect you two to stop stalling and set a date.”
“We’ll talk about that later,” Anna said, gathering her notes and rising. “For now, I need to get back to the office to check a couple things. How’s your arm? Should I send Doc Martin by?”
“I’m fine,” said Joe, also standing. “I don’t even need the sling.”
“Wear it anyway,” said Anna. “At least then, your family will think I’m taking proper care of you.” At Joe’s sudden frown, she said, “Don’t worry. Everything’s fine. Now, while I’m gone, I want you to write down absolutely everything you remember about yesterday. Write it all down, and when I come back, you’ll sign it in front of me.”
“Didn’t you do already write everything down? Why should I do it?”
“Because writing it down may trigger some other memories,” said Anna. And if you go back into wherever it is that you go when you’re in these fugue states, at least I’ll have the document to put into evidence. She saw the flicker of fear in Joe’s eyes. He knew. Just as quickly, he tamped down the fear and gave her his best shot at the famous irresistible Joe Cartwright grin, the one that invited everybody to share the joke. He couldn’t keep it going, though, and as he faltered, it was all she could do to give him an encouraging smile of her own.
So, Anna kissed his cheek and called for Roy to let her out of the cell. In the moment before he came in, she turned back to her client.
“Just remember,” she said softly. “I’m the person you tell.” As Roy unlocked the cell, Joe nodded, and he watched her leave.
**********
At lunchtime, they convened in Joe’s cell to compare notes. The witness who claimed to have seen Joe running down the street with blood all over himself was Lotta Harrison. Adam and Hoss had tried to talk to her, but she claimed to know nothing more than she had told the sheriff. Adelaide Morrison and her son, Robbie, were the pair that Joe had passed right before he got to the alley, but Adelaide told Ben that they knew nothing.
“You know that I’d help you if I could, Mr. Cartwright,” Adelaide said, so coy that no one would ever have known she was married.
“I appreciate that, Mrs. Morrison,” said Ben, with only a breath of emphasis on “Mrs.” “For some reason, Miss Harrison seems to be under the impression that you knew something more...” He trailed off, inviting her to fill in the blanks.
“I think it’s because it was all so confusing,” Adelaide smiled, pouring Ben another cup of coffee. “Everyone was talking at once, and Flora Gibson’s husband went down the street to see what was what, and that’s when he found the body and sent for the sheriff. I’m ever so sorry that your son is in such trouble, but I’m sure it’ll sort itself out in no time at all. If you don’t mind my asking—what did he say about what went on?”
“I really can’t say,” said Ben, draining his cup and rising. The coffee was so weak that Hop Sing could have used it for washing windows. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Morrison.”
Anna sipped her tea as she listened to the accounts of the morning’s activities. “Has anyone talked to the doctor yet?” she asked.
“I did,” said Adam. “Pretty straightforward. Death was caused by the knife between the ribs. Got shoved in hard, all the way up to the hilt. Blade pierced the heart, pretty much cut it in half. Probably killed him in a matter of seconds.”
“Adam,” Ben remonstrated mildly. “Not while we’re eating, please.” An abrupt movement caught his eye, and he turned to see that Joe was suddenly pale and had set down his sandwich. “You all right, son?” he asked.
Joe nodded. “I’m fine,” he said unconvincingly. All at once, he wished that they’d all leave. He took a deep breath, and another, but it didn’t help. The room was starting to spin, and he felt like he was liable to pass out, right here in front of everybody. He started to sway, and he would have fallen except that his father, who was sitting next to him on the cot, caught his arm.
“Put your head down,” Ben said, pushing him so that his head was between his knees. “Breathe deep. Count four, in and out.” Joe closed his eyes and breathed, and after a few minutes, he sat up again.
“You sure you’re all right?” asked Hoss, blue eyes dark with concern.
Joe nodded. “Just got a little lightheaded, nothing serious,” he said. He still wouldn’t have felt steady on his feet, but he was all right sitting here, not moving.
His father noticed, though, and he didn’t like it. Joe wasn’t the type to get queasy about comments like Adam’s. “Well, Doc’s going to have my hide if you don’t get some rest soon,” Ben said. To the others, he said, “I think we should move this meeting down to Anna’s office and let Joe rest up a bit.”
“I’m fine,” Joe protested, but the others paid him no mind as they packed up their lunches.
Ben followed them out to the door and returned to find Joe already lying down on the cot with a blanket pulled over himself. This was most unlike his son, and Ben was now suspicious. He laid a hand on his son’s forehead. No fever, but the boy was still far too pale. “All right, young man, what’s going on?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” said Joe. “Just a little dizzy. It’ll pass. It just takes a few minutes.”
“And you know this—how?” Joe remained silent. “Has this dizziness also been happening for the past several weeks?” Ben didn’t bother to keep the irritation out of his voice at this newest revelation.
“A little bit,” admitted Joe sheepishly.
Ben raised his eyebrows. “Joseph, what else don’t I know?” he asked sternly.
Joe shook his head. “Nothing, Pa, I swear,” he said. “This is it. You know everything I do now. Probably more, even.”
“There’s nothing else?” Ben sounded skeptical. Joe supposed he couldn’t blame him for that. “Is your arm bothering you? Do we need to get Doc over here?”
“Really, Pa, I’m fine,” said Joe. He decided to be forthright. He owed his father that much. “I think—I’m just tired, and listening to Adam talk about how that fellow died—I started picturing what it was like and wondering if I was the one...” His voice trailed off.
“Don’t think like that,” said Ben. He sat on the edge of the cot, his voice softening. “This whole mess is going to get sorted out, and then you’ll be home.”
“But Pa—what if—”
“Joseph, don’t even say it,” Ben cut him off gently. “It’s all going to be fine, I promise. Now, I want you get some rest. You didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Neither did you,” Joe pointed out.
Ben smiled. “But I didn’t have quite the day you had yesterday, either,” he said. He patted Joe’s shoulder and rose. “You get some sleep, and I’ll see you later.”
Joe watched his father leave, pulling the door of the cell closed behind him. It’s all going to be fine, I promise, Pa had said. How could he promise something like that? How could anyone?
Sleep. That was what he needed. But when he closed his eyes, all he could see was the image of how this man had died. Damn Adam and his vivid descriptions. And what if he really was the person who had shoved that knife hard between a stranger’s ribs and cut his heart in half? Joe squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fist against his mouth, trying to keep from screaming or vomiting—he felt in that moment as if he could do either. Slowly, the feeling faded, and Joe found himself thinking of the meeting in Anna’s office, and of Anna.
Because all at once, all he wanted was the one person who would let him talk about his worst fear without telling him he wasn’t allowed to think that way. The only person who seemed to be able to handle the idea that he might be as bad as he feared he was.
*********
“Anna.” Adam had opened the office door so quietly that she hadn’t heard him. “May I speak with you?”
“Of course.” It had been a long, long day, and she still had hours of work ahead of her, but she gestured to the chair in front of her desk. “What can I do for you?”
“You’ve got to get Joe out on bail,” Adam said.
Anna suppressed a sigh. She’d expected this conversation, but not quite yet. “Joe doesn’t want to get out,” she said. “I can’t argue for bail if my client wants to stay in jail.”
“Joe doesn’t know what he wants right now,” said Adam with heat in his voice.
“Actually, he does,” said Anna, matching his tone exactly. Then, she softened. “Adam, he feels safe there. I’m not taking that away from him. Not without his consent.”
“That’s ridiculous,” said Adam. “He’ll be safer with us at home—and a whole lot warmer, too. If he stays in that jail for however long it takes to get to trial, he’ll be dead of pneumonia before the jury comes in.”
“That may be true, but I’m bound by my client’s wishes,” said Anna. “But let me ask you this. Are you prepared to supervise him constantly to make sure that he doesn’t go off and do something else he doesn’t recall? Because that’s why he wants to stay where he is. It isn’t that he thinks somebody’s going to do something to him. Joe is afraid to find out what he’s capable of doing in this state.”
“That’s ridiculous,” said Adam again.
Anna shook her head. “You have no idea how much it shook him up to realize that he’d struck your father,” she said. “And now he’s accused of murdering some drifter. He’s scared to death to find out what else he might do without knowing it.”
“He has to get out of jail,” said Adam. “It’d be better for him, and better for Pa, too.”
“Adam, if you want to talk to him about it, be my guest,” said Anna. “If you can convince him that he’ll be safe at the Ponderosa, I’ll make a request for bail. But I won’t do it unless he tells me to. Joe is my client, Adam. Not you, or your father, or Hoss.” She stood to signify that the meeting was over, and Adam rose reflexively. “Are you going over there now?”
Adam shook his head. “I can’t believe you won’t do this for him,” he said. “You said your job was to protect him.”
“Adam, he is not a child,” said Anna. “He is a competent adult, and this is his choice. I will do anything he wants me to do, but I will not go against my client’s wishes.”
“Forgive me for taking up your time,” said Adam coldly. “Good night.” He was gone before she could reply.
***********